


In Regards to Feedism: Eros

by Newtella



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Feeding Kink, Food Kink, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtella/pseuds/Newtella
Summary: Victor Nikiforov has spent the past twenty years hungry and alone. But at the banquet after the Sochi Grand Prix Final, Yuri Katsuki reminds him of the three things his life had been missing: life, love—and copious amounts of food.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic involves multiple characters dealing with internalized fatphobia, food negativity, and fatphobic comments at the hands of others. A character also briefly expresses suicidal thoughts. If those sorts of things would be upsetting to you, it’s probably best to exercise caution during your reading experience. Of course, once you get past those mental health issues, it just becomes feedism porn, so like, if you’re not into feedism, maybe exercise caution in that regard too.

Victor was hungry.

Of course, when you were Victor Nikiforov, the single greatest figure skater alive and possibly of all time, being hungry wasn’t exactly news. Figure skaters were expected to maintain a certain body type, a fact that Yakov drilled into Victor’s head every day like a mantra he couldn’t escape, like the dependable ticking of a clock. _An extra pound of fat could cost you a jump. An extra pound of fat could cost you your fans. That piece of cake isn’t worth it, Victor. Believe me._

Of course, after twenty years of competitive figure skating, Victor was used to diet and discipline. It had been ten years since the last time he’d accepted a second helping of dinner. He hadn’t entered the quaint little bakery near his house, ever. And now, at the Grand Prix Final banquet, at the banquet celebrating _his win_ , _his triumph_ … he had filled his plate with salad and a modest serving of lean chicken. He had devoured every bite, a master of looking calm and collected even while he practically licked the plate clean. He was starving. He was famished. And he could smell. The twenty delicious pizzas. At the buffet. Right. Over. There.

He faked a smile and greeted fellow skaters and fans, condescended to Yuri Plisetsky and nodded when Yakov spoke. He greeted Chris with a kiss on the cheek, as if they were old friends, as if there wasn’t a massive wall between them, as if Victor wasn’t too busy skating even to text him, most of the time.

To be fair, it wasn’t just Chris. Victor felt distant from everyone here. He was above them. They lived in a different world than he did. They had lives, and he had skating. They had friends, and he had skating. They had food, and he skating.

A waiter was talking to him. What was he saying? Victor hadn’t been listening. What was he holding? Oh, a platter of… oh god… miniature hot dogs…

“VITYA!” Yakov’s voice, clear and sharp, sliced through his reverie. Victor dropped the hors d’oeuvre as if it had burned him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!?!?! Do you know how many calories are in those?!?!?!?!?!”

Victor felt like crying, but after all, he was very good by now at pretending food didn’t matter. “Sorry, sorry! Haha! Wasn’t paying attention. The only thing that passes my lips for the rest of the night will be champagne, don’t you worry!”

“Hmph.” Yakov did not look impressed. “Don’t go crazy on that, either. There’s calories in champagne too, you know. And don’t embarrass yourself. We both know how you get when you’re drunk.”

Victor nodded, though he privately thought he’d need ten _bottles_ of champagne to make it through this night. “Of course, Yakov. I know my career has to come first.”

Yakov turned away to berate Yuri for complaining about the music, and Victor was alone. Victor was always alone. Victor was crushingly, hopelessly alone. And hungry.

But at least he was the best figure skater in the whole goddamn world.

He’d never known any other life but this one, and he didn’t see any future for himself, other than next year’s Grand Prix gold. As far as Victor was concerned, he’d skate a few more years, retire, and then “accidentally” walk in front of a bus or something, maybe in downtown St. Petersburg. He couldn’t die before then, obviously, because he’d be letting Yakov down, and his parents, and his fans. All of these people cared deeply about Russian figure skater Victor Nikiforov. He was only free to end it once he stopped being useful. Once he had to face the fact that he had nothing and no one to love.

And then, Yuri Katsuki started eating.

To be fair, he’d caught Victor’s eye from the moment he entered the Grand Prix circuit and Victor first saw him skate. Because the Japanese Yuri was… well, not fat. No serious skater Victor had ever met was fat. And yet Katsuki was… bigger than most of the others. He had rock-hard abs and a softness to his cheeks, truly strong calves and slightly wide thighs, chiseled arms and a tiny soft belly. Victor was fascinated by him. Partially because, well, Victor was gay, and even though he had no time for dating, he could still admire a nice male body when he saw one. And Katsuki’s softness was nice, Victor thought. Never mind _why_ he found softer bodies so appealing. Never mind his daydreams that Katsuki would look even better with ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds piled onto him. Victor didn’t want to think about those things. He was content to think that Katsuki looked _good_.

The other part was that Victor was so tremendously jealous that Yuri had made it to the Grand Prix Final with a chubby belly that he could _scream_. Why. Wasn’t. Victor. Allowed. To. Have. That. Too??!?!?!?!

He knew what Yakov would say. That the extra weight was what had cost Yuri the Final. That the extra weight was why Victor had made his senior debut so much earlier than Yuri had, that it was why Victor was the best in the world and Yuri wasn’t. But right now, Victor didn’t care about any of that. He would settle for coming dead last in the Grand Prix Final if it meant he could have some fat on him, _anywhere_.

Oh yeah. He didn’t like to question why he wanted that, either.

He couldn’t think about anything right now, anyway. Not if it wasn’t Yuri Katsuki. Because Yuri Katsuki was sitting in the middle of the banquet hall, stripped down to his button-down and his underwear, with an entire medium pizza resting on his knees. And he seemed intent on stuffing his face with the. Entire. Thing.

Victor’s mouth went dry, mesmerized. It was obvious, from the way Yuri was swaying and his tie was draped around his head like a training sweatband, that he was pretty much drunk out of his mind. But that didn’t make this any less hot, or any less impossible, or any less amazing. Yuri ate every slice with the biggest, most devious trickster smile, as if each bite were simultaneously the most delicious and the most sinful activity he’d gone through with. He devoured yet another slice, ran a hand over his belly— _oh god, that belly_ —and stifled a burp. Then he looked out into the crowd.

“Who… who wants to…” he slurred in English. “Eating contest. Me. Ruhnow.”

Victor’s breath caught in his throat. Could he…? No, of course he couldn’t. Yakov was watching. His career was on the line. And anyway, he couldn’t start eating what he wanted _now_ —he would never be able to stop. He didn’t allow himself to think about whether or not he actually wanted to.

Fortunately, Yuri locked eyes with the Russian Yuri instead of Victor. For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “You. You were mean to me in a bathroom stall. Eating contest. Now.”

“DON’T BE STUPID!!!” bellowed Plisetsky. “I’M NOT GONNA STUFF MY FACE WITH THAT CRAP JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A FATASS WHO CAN’T CONTROL YOURSELF WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK!!”

Katsuki looked at him calmly. He ate another bite of pizza. He said, “Fine. If you admit I would win.”

“Get out of my fucking way,” Plisetsky grumbled, and he shoved Victor aside, rolling up his sleeves as he stomped onto the dance floor. He snatched a pizza off the buffet table, threw himself unceremoniously onto the floor, and began wolfing it down with inhuman ferocity. “I’ll eat ten times what you do, pig!!!!”

As it turned out, Yuri Plisetsky would do nothing of sort. He ate five slices of pizza and promptly gave up, snapping at Katsuki that this stupid contest wasn’t worth making himself sick for no reason, that Katsuki was going to have a hard time waddling home if he kept this up. Plisetsky stomped over to Yakov, who was predictably blustering about calories, but Victor knew he wasn’t really that mad. Yuri still had a teenage metabolism, after all. He would shove all that pizza down his throat and it would just… fucking disappear. Victor’s diet plan was infinitely stricter than Yuri’s was, and Yuri didn’t even care about food the way he did! It wasn’t _fair_ …

Okay. Okay, Yuri Katsuki had just finished a whole pizza. Victor swallowed, watching him lick the grease off his fingers before feeling up his now sort of bloated belly. Was he… was he rubbing it to aid digestion, or was he… playing with his own fat, showing it off for the world to see? He jiggled it a little. Lord help Victor. This boy was _hot_. He slurred, “Whosnext?”

“Sure!” Chris was chuckling. Victor suddenly noticed the Swiss skater standing next to him. Up until now, he hadn’t noticed anyone but Yuri. “Why not? It’s not _exactly_ my style, but as an expert in the human appetite for a more… _mature_ pleasure, I know a thing or two about the pleasures of food, too~” Chris swept gracefully over to the banquet table and snatched up another pizza.

“Get me one too!” demanded Katsuki. “Not sure if I can get up. Don’t wanna try.”

Victor’s eyes grew huge. He was going to eat _more_?!

“Haha! Okay! Who am I to deny you the gratification of excess?” Chris sat down cross-legged next to Yuri and passed him the pizza. Yuri grabbed a slice and stuffed it into his mouth as if he’d been starving for years—which he probably had been, Victor realized. Yuri was a figure skater. Weren’t they all starving? Of course a drunk Yuri would gorge himself. They’d both been deprived for so long…

Chris leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. Starting at the top, he slowly began to unbutton his shirt, tossing his short hair and taking a sultry bite of pizza.

“You’re too slow,” Yuri mumbled, already on his second slice. “You’ll never eat more than me that way!”

Chris laughed. “Yuri, I’ve known that from the start! There’s no way I can eat more than you have! I’m simply trying to emulate the… eroticism you’re exuding in my own way.” And, oh fuck, he looked straight at Victor. And raised an eyebrow. And _grinned_.

Victor swallowed. Chris knew. Chris knew that he was rock hard, watching Yuri do this. Did he know that Victor wanted to eat that much, too, more than anything in the world?

Up until now, the crowd’s eyes had been fixated on Yuri, a little disgusted, a little amazed. But they loved Chris. He performed a striptease for the world to see, swirling his tongue around the pizza and somehow making it look a lot less like bread and sauce and a lot more like some dude’s dick. Sooner or later he was in his underwear, writhing on the floor deep throating his second slice of pizza, and everyone was laughing with him.

Except Victor. Because Yuri had eaten thirteen slices of pizza and was still going strong.

He shifted back and forth, obviously uncomfortable, and apparently decided it was best to just lie the fuck down. He placed a hand on the growing mound of his belly, dutifully forcing another slice of pizza down his own throat. Victor’s hands twitched. He wanted to be there. He wanted to rub Yuri’s belly and make it better. He wanted to feed him those last three slices of pizza, and then maybe some desserts…

“Chris,” said Yuri suddenly, as the Swiss man raked his tongue along his pizza crust, “you miss the point. It’s not about… this! Sex… metaphors! It’s about…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Victor understood. He had never found that sort of thing erotic, thin men bragging about their dicks and showing off their abs. Polishing off two whole pizzas, on the other hand…

Chris looked a little hurt, but stood up and obediently sulked away. Yuri forced himself to a sitting position, wincing a little as he did so. He picked up Chris’s mostly-untouched pizza tray and scanned the crowd.

He locked eyes with Michele, who shook his head, looking utterly and completely mortified. Yuri locked eyes with Cao, who the author refrains to write a reaction for, because he has know idea who the fuck this guy is. Yuri locked eyes with JJ, but he, like, shook his head or something. And then. And then Yuri’s eyes met Victor’s.

The desire in Victor’s eyes was so palatable, so strong, that he was immediately sure Yuri could see it too. Yuri’s mouth quirked into a seductive smile. He hooked a finger towards him, urging Victor forward.

“Vitya,” said Yakov, the constant warning in his ear. “Vitya. You know it’s not worth it. You don’t have anything to prove to this boy.”

Maybe Victor didn’t. But he had something he wanted to prove to himself.

He floated towards Yuri as if in a trance. For the first time all night, he felt like someone was looking at him and actually _seeing_ him. Not seeing Victor Nikiforov, the greatest figure skater of all time. Seeing Victor. Just Victor.

He sat next to Yuri, who wordlessly handed him the pizza.

“VITYA!” shrieked Yakov. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!?!”

Victor closed his eyes.

He took a bite.

Oh god.

Oh god.

Oh _god_.

It had been _years_ since he’d had pizza. And he was _so hungry_ … he couldn’t help it. He moaned.

Victor was sort of terrified of what Yuri’s reaction to that would be, but when he opened his eyes, Yuri just nodded. “Good, isn’t it?” He leaned forward onto his knees, face inches away from Victor’s. Victor’s heart pounded. Yuri’s eyes gleamed. “ _Eat more_.”

Victor nodded so hard. “Yes. Yes! I… I will!”

Yakov threw up his hands and stomped away, grumbling about how if Victor wanted to throw away his career for this, it was on him.

And so Victor ate more pizza.

They went on, willpower thrown in the trash where it belonged. Victor polished off an entire pizza in what felt like minutes, getting shakily to his feet to fetch himself another one—and to obtain some cake for Yuri to eat for dessert. He sat back down, hands trembling, belly fuller than it had been in decades—only to see Yuri sprawled on the floor, breathing heavily, one slice of his second pizza left uneaten. His bloated belly was sticking up from his chest, rising and falling as he breathed.

“Do you… need help?” Victor asked hoarsely.

Yuri nodded. “Full… mmm… Victor… my shirt is tight… can you…”

Heart pounding, Victor scootched to his side, fingers hovering over the button-down. The fabric was stretched tight over Yuri’s rounded belly, buttons at the widest bits straining considerably. Fingers trembling, Victor started from the bottom, sliding a button out of its hole. His hand brushed against Yuri’s bare belly in the process, and a shiver jolted through his entire body, electrocuting him with feeling. Oh god. Oh _god_. Yuri’s belly was so hard and taught and packed and round and _stuffed_ , a perfect picture of gluttony, and Victor tore open Yuri’s other buttons in a fit of eros, unable to wait even a moment longer. When he finally got to see it bare, spherical in the dim light of the banquet room, it was not a disappointment at _all_.

Yuri smiled cheekily. “It hurts. Rub it, Victor.”

And so Victor pressed his hands to Yuri’s bare flesh and rubbed. There was no give to his belly at all, but the skin was… soft. As if the tiny layer of fat that coated the Japanese skater demanded to be felt, even when stuffed.

“Now feed me,” Yuri demanded, a lazy, glutted king used to his servants complying to his every whim. “There’s more pizza left… Victor, I’m _starving_ …”

Victor nodded hurriedly, unable to do anything but obey. “Y-yes, of course…” He continued to rub circles into Yuri’s belly with one hand as he picked up the final slice of pizza with the other. He scootched closer to Yuri, ignoring the protests from his own stomach as he leaned over the other skater, dangling the slice of pizza over his lips. Before Victor could move to lower it into Yuri’s mouth, Yuri surged upwards, grabbing the pizza with his teeth and gobbling it down. Victor grinned and moved his hand almost imperceptibly closer to Yuri’s lips, allowing him to tear off the last few bits of crust with his teeth. Yuri was breathing heavily, as was Victor. They looked into each other’s eyes, and Yuri moaned.

“Full?” Victor asked sympathetically.

“… I have a little room.” And to Victor’s shock, Yuri sprang up from the floor and smashed chest-first into him, their bellies touching, lips inches apart, he could feel Yuri’s breath on him—and then the tables turned, Victor fell to the banquet hall floor and Yuri was straddling him with his hands on the floor on either side of Victor, and Yuri was puffing with how full he was and his eyes were hazy and his cheeks were flushed and he smiled.

He picked up Victor’s second pizza.

He selected a slice.

He held it to Victor’s lips. “ _Eat_.”

Victor opened his mouth.

They were still in that position when Yuri fed Victor the very bites last of his second pizza. By that point, Victor could barely chew, but Yuri wasn’t taking no for an answer, shoving the food roughly into Victor’s mouth whenever he opened it for air. Victor was whining and writhing in pain on the dance floor, hands flailing at his own belly in an attempt to do _something_ to calm it down.

He felt better than he had in twenty years.

Totally indifferent to Victor’s moans of agony, Yuri grabbed some of the cake Victor had picked up for him from the buffet table. Yuri munched on it idly, holding the slice of cake in one hand, while he reached his other hand down to Victor. Victor relaxed the moment Yuri’s fingers came in contact with his tender belly, massaging him with expert skill. He exhaled and lay back, gazing up at Yuri with awestruck eyes. He almost couldn’t believe this was real. He almost didn’t believe something so wonderful could happen, and certainly not to _him_.

“You’re so thin,” said Yuri suddenly, in a rare moment between two pieces of cake, when his mouth wasn’t too full to talk.

Of course, Victor had heard those words thousands of times before. Lilia Baranovskaya, telling him in her own stern way how very thin and beautiful he was. Yakov, reminding him time and time again of how his low weight was an advantage in competitions, and how he was not to ruin that. His own parents, side-eyeing him at meals and casually recommending diets and exercise regimes that were said to work well for maintaining weight…

But this time, this now with Yuri, was the first time Victor had ever heard someone call him thin, and sound… disappointed.

“It’s just so _boring_ ,” Yuri slurred, shaking his head somberly. “ _Everybody’s_ thin, every skating person’s thin, and ’s _boring_. S’not hot at _all_. Wouldn’t you rather be _fat_?”

Victor had never told anyone before. But then, no one in the world had ever thought to ask. “Yes,” Victor whispered. “Yes, Yuri. I would _love_ to be fat.”

“Me, too!” Yuri smiled and licked the last bits of icing off his fingers. He lowered himself to the floor beside Victor, draping his arms around Victor’s shoulders. With great difficulty, reddening at the effort, Victor rolled over so that he was facing Yuri, and the two of them snuggled close to each other. He was very aware of the fact that Yuri was wearing only underwear and he was fully clothed, that Yuri was drunk and Victor was sober, that they were both stuffed out of their minds and their bellies were touching and Victor could feel Yuri’s breath on him. It smelled like cake.

When Yuri kissed him, he tasted like cake, too.

“Victor,” Yuri said. “After this season is over… my family owns a hot springs resort… since I won this eating contest, you’ll come get fat with me, right?” And Yuri hugged him. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Victor’s belly was aching and this was making it worse, or that Yakov was going to kill him later, or that he had awakened something in himself that had been sleeping for so long. His eyes grew misty. His cheeks grew flushed. Oh, god. Victor loved this boy. “Get fat with me, Victor!”

It would be the end of his career, Victor knew. Giving up on being the very best skater in the world, throwing away all the trophies and gold medals and media attention and fans and praise and applause, for… what?

For going to bed with a full belly every night. For reading a menu and cheerfully ordering anything he pleased, calories be damned. For cake and pizza and beef stroganoff, and for trying new foods every single place he went. For a little softness around his jaw, some padding around his tummy, the comfortable feeling that he was alive, and here, and allowed to take up space, and allowed to be someone, even that person wasn’t a figure skater at all.

For more stuffing sessions like this one, because they were erotic as _fuck_.

And for Yuri. For getting fat _together_. For no longer being alone. For never being alone again.

Yuri snuggled into Victor’s chest, so sated with food and drink by now that he was almost asleep. Victor ran a hand through Yuri’s hair and smiled.

“Maybe I will…”

 

******

 

Yuri dashed through Yutopia, stumbling through every room and knocking over people and objects and furniture, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, nothing but his destination and the man who was supposedly waiting for him there—why did he have to get here _now_ , when Yuri had let his body go so badly—his idol would probably think he was disgusting, wouldn’t he? There was no way the best figure skater in the whole world would be accepting of a fat pig like him—why couldn’t this meeting have happened at the Grand Prix Final instead, before Yuri had lost all self-control and spent four months eating his feelings—Yuri had been a failure at the Final, sure, but at least he’d been a _thin_ failure—well, thin _ish_ —

Yuri was outside. Steam from the hot springs was fogging up his glasses, and he stared through the mist trying desperately to make out if that person was really here—

He was. Victor Nikiforov stood up from the bath. He was just as beautiful in person as Yuri had always imagined him to be. He was very thin, and very confident, and very, very naked.

Yuri stared.

Victor held out his hand, and _winked_ at him. “Starting today, you’re my weight gain coach! Let’s get fat together, da?”

“WHAT?!”

 


End file.
